Tis The Season To Be Dishonest
by goldnox
Summary: ONE-SHOT / Post 5x10 / Immediately following his breakup with Elena, harsh reality begins to set in for Damon. Because when you've devoted your life to loving another, how do you continue once you've pushed them away? And in the end, what does it take to right your wrongs once you are truly honest with yourself? Could a Christmas lie be the key to forgiveness? / DELENA


**A/N: Hello my dears! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you! **

**As my gift to you all, along with an update from _With Eyes Wide Open_, it was far past time I addressed the Delena breakup. And what I need to happen after that goes down. This is starting the night of 5X10, Damon POV, almost immediately after the breakup. We are dutifully ignoring the Katherine aspect, because, I am. And I can. Bwa-ha-ha. And it's gonna be a little angsty, because we are dealing with some angsty shit. But hang tough with me guys, there's a reason I'm posting this on Christmas ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Tis the Season To Be Dishonest**

* * *

I turn on my shower and run my bathroom sinks full blast, trying to drown out the sounds in the house. I don't want to hear them.

Not the pacing coming from Stefan's room.

The fire crackling in the parlor.

Her muffled sobs and gasping breaths downstairs. The slide of her clothes against the leather couch. Her vampire heart, thumping too loud like it's struggling to beat.

I did what I had to. What was right.

I know I did.

She's cried before. She'll cry again.

But if I have to hear it, I'll forget why it needs to happen.

I know I will.

* * *

Two hours since the world rearranged and I take another drink from my bottle, crossing my ankles the opposite way. I'm sitting on the floor against the wall, my legs stretched out in front of me and staring at the inside of my closed bedroom door.

I can't get near the bed. It is supposed to be mine, but for a while, it was ours. Now it's empty. And it's going to stay that way.

I could sit in the chair, but that's off limits too. That's where she sits and waits while I get dressed in the morning, where she does her nails, sometimes reads. Where her clothes end up in a pile at the end of the day.

Or at least, _did_.

The rest of her stuff is in the closet. Ours. Mine. May as well be hers. T-shirts with lace hems and flirty little dresses interwoven with nocturnal-colored button-downs. Converse sneakers and high heels and flip flops stacked next to Italian dress shoes and motorcycle boots. Leather jackets that jump starkly in size from the ones that fit her tiny frame to my longer one. Even the dresser is a maze of camisoles and lingerie all mixed together with boxers and Henleys, piles of shorts and low-rise stretch jeans crammed against dark wash boot cuts.

I don't even want to look at the tub.

I take another drink and finish the bottle, the last one I have up here. And that's a big fucking problem.

She stopped crying about thirty-seven minutes ago, but I know she's not asleep. Because she's pacing. Back and forth in front of the fire that's trying to die. The one that has witnessed so many of the changes that happened between us.

When she said we should let Stefan go.

When I promised I'd never leave her.

Where we danced the first night we were together.

Where I told her we were done.

And I can't go down there. I'll cave. I'll forget. I'll see red-rimmed eyes and a girl that I love who was just kidnapped and tortured because of me. Who burned her home to the ground, because I told her not to feel.

She's an eighteen year-old college dropout, a vampire with nowhere to go. A woman who has to live with two ex-boyfriends that happen to be brothers, both of whom broke up with her after a traumatic event. And it's not even just her this affects, but her orphaned teenage brother too. The one I swore to protect. The one that's going to try to kill me when he finds out what I said to her.

I resist the urge to groan and pull my legs up until my feet are flat on the floor, my elbows resting over my knees and the bottle dangling from my fingertips. I have no idea what she's going to do. She could stay here, but sleep in a guestroom? That's so fucked up. I don't want her sleeping on the couch downstairs. I've never been okay with that, even before we were together. And me moving to another room and giving her this one? She'd never accept the offer. I don't blame her either. _I _don't even want to be in here right now. There are too many memories.

Dammit, is there even a throw blanket downstairs?

I set the bottle down and scrub a hand through my hair, my head falling back against the wall.

Option A: Continue to claim the title of World's Biggest Prick and not think about it. She's a vampire, it's not like she's going to get hypothermia. She's also a big girl and she doesn't need a blankie. And if she does need one, she can climb the stairs to any one of the other six bedrooms in this house and grab one.

Option B: Take the girl a fucking blanket because it's the least you can do when you just ripped her heart out and effectively banished her from the only place she felt was hers anymore. Just don't look at her.

Yeah, 'cause that's not the cruelest thing you could do right now.

_Hey, Elena. I'm not looking at you or speaking to you, but here's a blanket since I broke up with you and pretty much kicked you out of our room. Think you could keep the crying to a minimum? Because you're keeping everyone awake. Oh, and let me just snag a bottle of bourbon while I'm down here, seeing as this is my house and you've been reduced to an awkward guest. Nighty night._

I scowl and bang the back of my head against the wall. Yep, she just heard that. And I know because she sucked in a breath when I did it. Great. Way to keep up the sticking to your guns act. Like this isn't affecting me at all. Like I'm not pressing all my weight into the floor to keep me in place instead of going down there and groveling for forgiveness. And I don't fucking grovel. But it's _Elena_.

I loved her from afar and waited while she dated my brother, and I wanted nothing more than to be the one she chose when her head started to turn.

She is everything that is good and sweet and beautiful, and she is more than just a girlfriend. She is a partner, a mate.

But I am ruining her. And she's better off hating me.

I'm good at making that happen, but I don't know if I have what it takes to do that to her anymore. God knows she's been through enough.

Her phone chimes downstairs and my brow furrows. Who is she texting? Ten votes for Barbie. Eight for Witchy. Five for Gilbert Two. She blows out a shaky breath and sniffles, and I wince. This fucking sucks.

Her pacing stops and I wait, but she's absolutely silent.

Maybe she's going to sleep. She has to be exhausted.

Her footsteps start again and she's headed for the stairs. Shit, is she going to come up here and try to fight with me? I'm a little surprised she hasn't already, but if I go another ten rounds with her—

The front door shuts and my whole body jerks.

She didn't just leave. Say she didn't just fucking _leave_.

I wait a breath, but I don't hear anything. Nothing from Stefan's room, or from downstairs except the last embers of a fire.

Maybe Stefan left. Maybe Jeremy came home. Maybe—

Fuck.

I blur out of my room and downstairs, and she's gone.

I hear Stefan land right behind me, and I bite the inside of my cheeks and lock my jaw.

"Elena?" he calls out, and no one answers. I close my eyes, because they're stinging at the silence. "Do you want me to go after her?" he whispers and I don't know what to tell him.

No, I don't want him to go after her. _I_ want to go after her. And where is that going to get me? Where is that going to get her? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

"Damon?" Stefan asks and lays a hand on my shoulder. I shake him off and walk over to the drink cart and grab a glass and a decanter of something that I can't even remember because Elena isn't here and I have no idea where she's going and I don't have the right to ask her to come back and—

"Fuck!" I yell and hurl crystal into the fireplace.

And the flames don't leap at the impact, because there are no more flames.

* * *

It doesn't take long for reality to set in.

It slams into me with her brother's fist against my jaw before he packs his room and asks me to gather her things. He doesn't listen to me or Stefan when we tell him they don't have to move out. And he doesn't answer when my brother asks him where they are going to stay.

I'm given three hours to clear her stuff out of my room or Jeremy will do it over my shriveled corpse. This was told to me by a boy that's over 150 years my junior, proclaiming proudly that he can take me, because I trained him how. Shit got a little dicey when I told him to pipe down, and that I'd move her stuff to another room in the house, but that was as far as it was going.

When I woke up from my snapped neck, everything that belonged to Elena had disappeared. I don't remember seeing Jeremy move, and I don't want to think it was Stefan. But it doesn't really matter who did it in the end because the result is the same.

Her clothes. Her shoes. Her jewelry.

Her hair brush and makeup and straightener and curling iron.

Her books.

Her journal.

The only things I have left of her are a hair clip and a few pictures, one small tube of lip gloss and a single sock that I found in the dryer.

The little punk took everything out of the hamper too, snagging some of my stuff along with hers. It's fine. She can shred it, burn it, do whatever she wants with it. I don't expect to see it back anytime soon, just like I don't expect to see her.

She never responded when I texted her, asking where she was. There are only so many places she can go, and after the whole Maxfield fiasco I just wanted to know that she was safe. I don't think that's too much to ask. Apparently Stefan was on the same track as I was, because he's the one that found her. Irony of ironies. And where is she? Holed up with another one of her exes.

Stefan never even had to break his promise to Blondie of not telling me. I was right beside him when she spilled the beans over the phone that Elena was staying at formerly-Lockwood's and now-Donovan's. Mystic Falls' very own Phi Beta Fun House.

I'm convinced that place has some sort of curse on it, and the whole thing makes me nervous as all hell with the shit that has gone down on that property.

Elena's been kidnapped there. Twice.

We've waged war on Katherine, and Klaus, and got Mikael killed on the welcome mat.

Same house that she and I danced at for Miss Mystic Falls, and where she told me that I was the reason her relationship with Stefan had ended for good. You know, right before her brother tried to stake her.

And it's supposed to be a vamp free zone thanks to the title switch from one stumpy football player to another, so the risk is lower than it used to be. But a fair amount of the death drama has happened on that fucking lawn. Where's the bubble for that?

And I don't have the ability to do anything about it.

I chose to let her go, and go, she went.

The first text comes in a week later. Old habits die hard. Or just not at all.

I left a box of blood on her porch. She can live feed but she hates it, and I never quite got around to showing her how to snag sustenance from a blood bank. We were usually a little busy spending our time doing other, less clothing required, things. And Barbie can take care of Elena's stock being replenished, but she always drinks O positive and Elena has a taste for the rarities, not that she admits it because she feels guilty.

I didn't try to talk to her. I didn't try to see her. She deserves her space and I just…whatever. So I left it on her porch and I didn't even ring the doorbell, I just left. And went straight to a bar.

I got a text from her a couple hours later asking how I was, and I answered truthfully.

_**D: Drunk.**_

And that was it. No "Thanks for the blood" or "What bar are you at?" or "Have you stopped being a stubborn dumbass yet?" Just silence. So I silenced right back. Because I am a mature, almost two centuries-old vampire who isn't going to give the world the satisfaction of crawling back to the girl I so graciously dumped.

Another few days, another box of blood contraband, another text.

_**E: I have some of your clothes. **_

No shit. And again I was drunk, because am I getting any sleep? No. The solution to that? Getting blitzed until I pass out. So my response was probably a little more confessionary than I think either of us was comfortable with.

_**D: You have a lot of things, least of all my clothes. Keep it.**_

That brought her typing fingers to a flying halt. Until it…didn't.

And so the game has continued. I drop off the box, and a couple of hours later I hear from her.

_**E: You don't have to do this. **_

This one I don't answer.

_**E: Thank you for taking care of me. **_

I don't respond to this either.

What am I supposed to say? Sure? No problem? It's the least I can do?

Screw that. It doesn't change anything.

What I _don't_ expect is the one that comes in late on a Friday night, because I drop off her blood on Sunday afternoons and Wednesday mornings.

_**E: What was that orange colored fish soup you made me when I had strep throat?**_

First of all, fish soup? Really? She needs to stop being so fucking adorable. That shit is just unfair.

Two, she can't get sick. She's a vampire, that's off the table for her.

_**D: Lobster bisque. Human or hunter?**_

_**E: LOL! Jeremy. Thanks :)**_

I stared at my phone for twenty minutes. She can't cook that stuff, she can't even make deviled eggs. And if she tried to make her brother "fish soup" she'd probably end up bequeathing him some sort of disease and just make him worse.

So I made it. And kicked myself the whole time while doing it.

I swallowed thickly three times before anyone answered the doorbell at Casa de Castoffs, and at least it was Ex-Boyfriend: the Prequel that answered. I was greeted with a pissed off, "What the hell are you doing here and you're not coming in so get off my porch before I get a stake-" and I tossed the Tupperware container at him.

I can't cross the doorway because he hasn't invited me in since the ownership passed, but at least the kid has some decent reflexes and he snatched the Rubbermaid container before it could fall and splatter orange slop all over the floor. I was _almost _disappointed.

I turned and left, and that was that. Didn't see her. It's possible she wasn't there. Except that she was.

Her car was in the driveway, and I heard Matt tell her that _no_, I didn't say anything. A pause, a pull of plastic suction, and then she gasped. I wiped the smug smirk off my face as soon as I realized it was there. I'm not trying to impress her because I'm not trying to win her back. I don't even know why I made the stuff in the first place. Her sick puppy of a brother snapped my damn neck and tried to break my jaw.

She texted her thanks, and I ignored it.

Didn't matter though, because the floodgates had been opened and the texts started rolling in. Every day. I wonder if she realizes I'm the one paying her phone bill. And the bitch of it is, I can't even decide if I _want_ her to figure that out, because she'd probably give her phone back and change her number and not bother to tell me.

Yep, I am totally doing a bang up job of ignoring the fact that I'm still in love with her.

_**E: Did I hate the Tide laundry detergent or the Gain? **_

She hates laundry. Period.

_**D: Tide. **_

_**E: Thank you, Damon**_

No problem, Elena. Shit, until she buys the bleach one and uses it on her jeans.

_**D: Bleach + Colors = New Wardrobe**_

_**E: See, what would I do without you?**_

And on that note, it's time to get acquainted with Mr. Glenfiddich.

At least after I saw the bottom of a few bottles and was _almost_ able to forget that fucking text, I got a full four hours of sleep in the bed that I now hate. Score. And the fact that I never responded didn't seem to bother her, because the next day she kept right at it.

_**E: Hey, do you remember the name of the movie with guy at the hotel with Madonna and what's his face?**_

A, how does she even remember that movie? Because it was all of ten minutes before she called it wackadoodle and then stretched herself across my lap.

And B, why on earth is she watching it now?

_**D: Four Rooms. **_

_**E: What is what's his face's name?**_

Is that English?

_**D: Quentin Tarantino**_

_**E: :)**_

_**E: How did you know I didn't mean the bellhop?**_

Because I just fucking do. And I don't want to think about why.

I'll think about it tomorrow. At Tara.

Or at least I would have if my phone had ever stopped vibrating.

_**E: Am I supposed to peel the sweet potatoes before or after I cook them?**_

You're supposed to try to peel them beforehand, and then I find you sitting in a huff in the kitchen with orange flecks all in your hair and on your nose and a maimed yam in your hands, still 98% covered in peel despite your exhaustive efforts to have it be otherwise. And then you get really embarrassed when I remind you, again, to bake them first. You know, what happens every single time you have an inexplicable craving for candied sweet potatoes.

_**D: After.**_

_**E: How do I always forget that?**_

Because you're Elena. You know the birthdate of every squirrel in the forest, but sprinkled cumin on your toast because you couldn't find the cinnamon and thought since they were the same color and both started with a c, it was "close enough."

_**D: The real question is how long you fought with that potato before deciding there was something wrong with the process. **_

_**E: Shut up ;)**_

_**E: Hey, while I've got you **_(read: me having a heart attack)_** what was the youtube video that's a guy and a girl in a cabin and they're all blurry like they're at warp speed? The one when you said that being cute didn't cancel out the destructive powers of shoulder pads?**_

I snort a laugh and smile. Elena took personal offense to that and stuffed a whole bunch of socks under her bra strap to try and prove me wrong. She won.

_**D: You hated that song, said it was depressing. Mouthful of Diamonds by Phantogram.**_

_**E: Thx babe**_

Fuck. I've got to stop this shit. It's getting out of hand.

But she makes everything impossible, because today we have:

_**E: Godfrey's is saying that instead of only replacing my flat tire they need to change all four so they match AND give me new brakes because they have to replace them at the same time as the tires…**_

_**D: Bullshit. You only need one tire and I did your brakes two months ago. They're fine.**_

_**E: You sure? **_

Nope, I'm lying. I'm totally rooting for another car wreck.

_**D: Just compel the truth out of him **_

_**E: Okay…**_

Yeah, like that's going to happen.

_**D: Give me five minutes**_

_**E: You don't have to come up here**_

I know I don't. And I shouldn't. What I should have done was ditched my phone and been on a plane the second you walked out the front door. But I didn't do that either. So what I _am_ going to do is keep reading my book.

_**D: Fine. **_

I'm going to look at letters on a page and try to remember what they mean, and _not_ count the seconds between the vibrations of an incoming message on my phone. Or how long it takes for the next one to happen, exactly two hundred and two seconds later.

_**E: Damon?**_

_**D: What**_

_**E: Can you come up here?**_

Sure, as soon as I get this elephant off my fucking chest.

_**D: Be there in a minute**_

I start my car, and my traitor hand is shaking. What the hell is wrong with me? She's just a girl. This is ridiculous.

I pull up to Godfrey's four minutes and forty-three seconds later, and I can see her sitting inside on one of their cheap plastic waiting chairs and I roll my neck. I have had advanced acquaintances with every single inch of her body, and there's no reason why a peacoat and crocheted scarf and jeans and knee-high boots is cause for going from six to midnight.

Except I haven't seen her in forever and I_ love _those damn boots.

I am so royally fucked.

I storm into the place like I own it and the owner's son backs away from me. Even though he's standing _behind_ the counter.

"Damon-" I hear Elena say and I ignore it. I can't think when her voice is saying my name after so long of not hearing it.

"What's the problem?" I snap at the mechanic and he glances at me, then Elena, then me again.

"Nothing, no problem." He swallows. "Just thought she may want to go ahead and do all four tires while she's here, and the brakes were a little-"

"Brakes are fine, and Jimmy? You better think real hard before giving me some bullshit about the tread being worn down and needing a rotation."

"Yes sir."

"I want one tire, the same brand as the other three, and that's it. You don't even look at her air filter or take a whiff of the fluid in that car. Got it?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Salvatore."

"Good. And tell your dad you're an asshole."

He scurries off and I turn around to find Elena staring at me, and her face is halfway between wanting to ream me out for busting that guy's balls and partly a little shocked at just seeing me. There's a touch of gratitude in there, but it's covered by everything else.

I give myself one second, _one,_ to let my eyes take her in and God, she looks good. Smells even better. It's like someone just roundhouse kicked my sternum.

I realize we're both just standing here and staring at each other, and I need to get the hell away from her doe eyes and soft lips before I forget why my closet looks empty.

She opens her mouth to say something and I tilt my head at her, but then she swallows it and blows a breath out of her nose and my hand is on the door. I'm almost to the shelter of my car and halfway through planning a long night of drinking when her voice stops me.

"Damon, wait!"

I sigh and stop, and she runs around my side to stand in front of me.

"Thank you, for coming here. I'm sorry I've been bothering you so much lately," she says timidly, glancing away to tuck her hair behind her ear. She forces her gaze to return to me, and my jaw stays safely locked. "How have you been?" I cock an eyebrow and she fidgets like she always does when she feels like she's asking something dumb.

"You need anything else?"

She crosses her arms, like that's going to hide the way her eyes are shining. And I know that face. That is "Yes" all the way. That's "Hold me and tell me something funny and weird to distract me from the barrage of emotions that are ruling my life."

She shakes her head no.

"See you around, Elena," I tell her and turn to unlock my car.

"And when is that going to be?" she whispers sarcastically, and I don't know if it's the strain of seeing her and not touching her, or just knowing that the longer I stay in this town the more likely I am to keep letting her back in, despite the fact that I'm supposed to be letting her go. Maybe it's just that nothing I do even matters, because I am absolutely powerless when it comes to her.

I don't know what does it, but I fucking lose it.

"You're the one that left," I snap, rounding on her.

Her eyes pop and mouth gapes. "You broke up with me!"

"And in what part of that conversation did I ask you to leave?"

"That wasn't a conversation," she says harshly as she steps closer, glaring at me. "That was you being an ass and refusing to listen to me!"

"The only person that refused to listen was your brother, right before he snapped my neck and I woke up to find that all your shit was gone," I growl and she sucks in a breath.

"He never said-"

"That's not the fucking point, Elena!" I yell and she cringes. "You want to move out? Fine. How about you do me the courtesy of _not _sneaking off in the middle of the night? Or, here's a thought, you could go for a simple 'Hey, Damon. I'm gonna go but I'll need to come back to get my stuff. Why don't you leave the house for a couple of hours tomorrow so I can stop by?'"

She shrugs and a tear rolls down her cheek. "I didn't think you cared where I was, not anymore."

My hands clench into fists, my entire body drawn taut and shaking. "That has nothing to do with this, and you know it," I grit out and she looks away from me, biting her trembling bottom lip.

"I burned my dad's journal," she says quietly and I scoff.

"Congratulations," I mutter and turn to get in my car.

"God! What do you want from me?" she screams and I wince at the way her voice cracks.

I pause for a long time before I shake my head, my back to her. "Nothing," I say quietly. "I don't want anything from you."

"You are such a liar," she says and sniffles. "And I never thought I'd see the day that I'd call you a coward, but I guess there's a first time for everything."

Gravel grates under her boots as she turns and walks away from me, and I tell myself not to look back at her.

I tell myself that three times, but I do it anyways.

Long brown hair blowing in the icy wind, jacket-coated arms hugged around herself and leather boots putting more distance between us with every single stride.

And all I see are the feminine curves of my regret.

* * *

I roll over in bed, my eyes tracing the empty half. I don't know how things can get any worse.

I haven't heard from her since that day at the garage. I still leave blood on her porch, but the texts have stopped.

I finally cracked and went over there one night, staying hidden in the shadows of the trees while looking up at her room. She was sitting in a window seat, writing in her journal. Wearing one of _my_ shirts. I don't know how long I stayed there, staring at her like some sort of creep while she wrote, but it wasn't long enough. She glanced up and peered outside, and there's no way she could have seen me, but I left anyways just in case. I haven't been back.

Stefan talks to her. I know because he gets off the phone as soon as I come in the room and I hear her say goodbye to him. And I know there's nothing going on there, because he looks at me like he wants to tell me how she's doing, but he never says anything and then we get roaring drunk together.

It's weird. He and I are actually fine. I've been waiting for the beat down and the lecture from him about what I did to her, but he hasn't given one. I don't know if he's just glad I'm out of her life, or if he might really give a shit about me and he knows I'm miserable. Probably would be dangerous for anyone to provoke me right now, especially Stefan. The only argument we've gotten into was about the stupid holiday that tries to ruin my life every single year.

Mother fucking _Christmas_.

Blondie called her favorite Salvatore and decreed that my brother was to join the lost children at the Murder Mansion for a fine yuletide meal that most likely consists of KFC and Pizza Hut. Possibly Taco Bell. And I didn't hold my laugh back when she pointedly stated that I was most certainly _not_ invited. I did, however, get Stefan to crack a smile when I yelled my Bah Humbug before finishing off bottle three or four of the evening. And I didn't have a problem with any of that, until my brother told her he wasn't going.

Talk about stupid. There's no reason he needs to stick around here like he's too busy following me with a bucket to catch my tears. I'm not crying and I haven't been, thank you very much. It is what it is. I made my damn bed and I will lie in it. Alone.

I huff and roll onto my other side so I can't see the space where she used to sleep. I need to be claiming the middle of the bed like I used to once upon a time, but I keep drifting back over to one side. Kinda like how my bathroom drawers used to be full of all my things, and then they were overflowing when hers joined the fray, but now everything looks fucking bare and I don't get it. I have the same amount of stuff, if not more, than before we were together. There shouldn't be this big black hole everywhere I look. At the very least, you'd think it would start to go away after a while. But it just keeps getting bigger.

The front door shuts and I don't pay attention to it. It's just Stefan coming back because I did kick him out to go play Secret Santa and sing carols and boogie under the mistletoe or whatever else they had planned over at Donovan slash Gilbert's. But his footsteps don't head to his wing of the house, they head towards mine and I sit up, grabbing a book.

His knuckles rap on my door. "You up, brother?"

"Just checking my list twice before I fire up the sleigh," I tell him and he opens the door, leaning against the doorframe. "Let me guess. They made you play Pin the Tail on the Reindeer, and _you_ were the reindeer."

"Something like that. Elena cooked," he tells me and my eyebrows hit my hairline.

"And you _ate it_? Add that to your tally of idiotic life moves," I mumble and open my book. I turn the page and don't look at him. "Why aren't you over there guzzling eggnog with the rest of the lightweights?"

"Party broke up early."

I snort. "Jeremy get drunk and pick a fight with the Quarterback?"

"Almost. Matt kissed Elena," he tells me and I turn another page.

I'm breathing. Right?

Yep. Breathing.

"Nothing he hasn't done before," I tell Stefan and hear him cross his arms.

"Yeah…except, I don't think that's how she _used _to react."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I don't say anything, but Stefan answers anyway. "She started crying."

I slam my book closed. "Stop. I know what you're doing and you're not smart enough to pull this off, so get out of my room before I drop your dead ass in the cellar."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Just sharing the news."

"The fuck you are."

"Whatever you say, brother. Merry Christmas," he smiles at me and then pushes off the frame, jingling his car keys in his pocket as he probably skips down the hallway.

"Close the damn door, dick!" I yell, and he laughs.

I huff and roll out of bed, swinging my door closed with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. I pace across my floor because I have too much energy and no one to kill and I have this thing about not murdering family members on Christmas so Stefan's off the list and…

It doesn't matter what happened at that house. Girls cry over everything. Especially Elena. She probably was just pissed off that he did it in front of witnesses. Maybe she was crying because she was happy, ever think of that, Stefan? It has nothing to do with me. She doesn't miss me. She doesn't.

Bile rises in my throat when I think about that damn busboy's hand on her cheek. She's free to do whatever she wants, as long as she's happy and herself and not being influenced by my screwed up soul. That was the whole damn point.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair. I did what I had to. I did what was right. It doesn't matter what promises you make when you warp the girl you love. She has never wanted any of this. She didn't want to know me, or like me, or be with me or love me or any of it. All I've done was take her choices away.

Son of a bitch.

"Dammit, Stefan!" I yell and he chuckles from downstairs. It takes me a second to get my keys and my jacket and I'm just finishing putting it on when I hit the first floor's landing. "Shut up," I tell him and he raises his glass to me from his spot on the couch before I stride towards the front door.

"Where's _my_ present?" he calls after me with a grin in his voice, and I scoff but don't answer.

There's only one thing on my mind and I have no idea how I'm going to pull this off.

I stall the Camaro. I can't believe it. I don't remember the last time that happened. But something about my body is off and the rhythm falters, and I have a sudden flash of panic when the engine dies without my permission.

And I know: what I want to happen doesn't mean jack shit. I don't know why I ever thought I had any control over us in the first place.

Very carefully, I restart the car and it roars to life. Please let that be a good sign.

I run every light between her house and mine. It doesn't matter, there's no one on the road this late on Christmas anyways.

There are hardly any lights on in the house when I stop, but I don't care. I'll wake her up if I have to.

I ring the doorbell three times without pause, and I don't even remember getting out of my car. I could have locked my keys in it for all I know and I don't give a fuck because someone just flipped another light on inside.

Probably Jeremy or Matt with a shotgun. Which would make me feel better on any other night, but not this one.

I ring the doorbell two more times.

"Caroline, I said I'm fine," I hear Elena mutter and then the front door swings open.

She gasps, but I barely register it as I take in how crazy beautiful she is. Her hair is wet like she just got out of the shower, tied up messily and a few drops of water are still running down her neck and into the collar of one of my missing t-shirts. And her eyes are a little red like she was crying, damn near matching the color of her plaid shorts, but her socks are Grinch green. I don't know how she does that, looks so sexy and sweet all at once.

She shifts her weight and crosses her arms, and I snap back into my logic. It's fifteen degrees out here, she has to be freezing.

"Nice shirt," I smirk, and she blushes but tries to hide it while I shrug out of my jacket, holding it out to her.

"I'm fine," she tells me and I roll my eyes.

"It's freezing, and you're in nothing. Take the damn jacket," I tell her and she glares at me but steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind her. She finally takes the jacket, slipping her arms through the sleeves and it practically swallows her when she hugs her arms around herself.

"What are you doing here, Damon?"

I swallow. "Did you know that every time a bell rings, a vampire gets his fangs?"

"Are you drunk?"

"That was my Christmas lie to you. Can't break tradition." I smile and she cocks an eyebrow at me.

"You came over here, at 11:30 at night, to lie to me?"

"Yep, was cutting it a little close this year."

"Good night, Damon," she says and turns back towards the door.

"First Christmas after we met, you invited me over," I tell her and she stops in her tracks. "I blew you off. Remember that?"

"You said you had other plans," she says quietly, turning to face me.

I shrug. "I stole a Christmas tree and used it like a baseball bat to break all the ornaments I found in the attic of the boardinghouse, and when I was done I planted it in Pastor Young's front yard, decorated it with condoms."

"That was you?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "Was _real_ busy."

She shifts her weight and looks down. "Why did you lie to me?"

"Because that's what I _do_, Elena," I say disgusted and she winces. "Last year, you were sired to me."

"Damon…"

"And I told you to leave. That what I wanted, what would make me happy, was for us to be apart. _I lied_."

She hugs her arms, my jacket, tighter around herself and bites her lip.

I step closer to her, but she doesn't back away.

"I told you that I wouldn't change who I am, that I wouldn't change you. And I didn't mean for it to be, but it was another lie."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she whispers, and I take another step so I can hook a finger under her chin and raise her eyes to me.

"This summer, you were happy, we both were," I say quietly and her eyes start to water. "Are you happy here? Living with Matt, us being apart?"

"No," she chokes out and I take her face fully in my hands, brushing away a single tear that rolls down her cheek.

"Come home," I tell her and my voice wavers, but I don't care. "I screwed up, Elena. Your choices matter, and you didn't choose this. And you used to smile, all the time, but I have a feeling that stopped happening right around the time your things disappeared from our room."

She barely nods and the confirmation cracks something in my chest, a sour liquid pouring out. It's made a little better by her hands curling around my wrists, like she's afraid I'm going to vanish. I lean my forehead down to hers and it feels like the first full breath after a hard-fought fight, the pride and relief when you know you've won.

"I did change you, but not the way I meant that night. And I still won't change who I am, I'm going to drink too much and be an asshole and get in fights, but I also love you, Elena, and I can't change that either. I wouldn't even if I could."

She sniffles as more tears roll down her cheeks, and I smile softly, blinking to clear my eyes. It has to be the damn cold that's making them water.

She blows out a shaky breath and the puff of warm air mixes with mine, mingling together and floating off somewhere else.

"I told you once that you are my life, and that _was_ the truth. I need my life, Elena. Please, _come home_."

Her body spasms under a single sob, but she's smiling. She takes a deep breath and wipes at her face, and I can't tell if she's about to say yes or is about to give me a big fat no and then laugh all the way to the bank about it. Any time I have ever thought I knew what she was going to do, she usually surprised the death out of me.

She crosses her arms and I pull my hands away from her, because I know her well enough to recognize that she wants her space.

Fuck, I'm too late.

My eyes soak her in, trying to take in the memory of her before she tells me what I already know. I need to remember how she looks with no makeup and her hair in a mess, dressing in one of my worn cotton t-shirts and her tiny sleep shorts, my leather jacket tickling the thighs of her mile long legs and the collar flirting with her jaw.

It's my favorite look on her.

"You do realize," she says and delicately clears her throat. God, this is it. "The next time you break up with me, your apology is probably going to run the way of a proposal if you keep at this pace."

I grin. "Who says that wasn't part of my master plan?"

"Doesn't surprise me a bit," she says and I chuckle. She takes another deep breath and wipes at her eyes again. "Well?"

"Well what? You want me to propose right now?" I ask nervously and she laughs.

"No," she says and shakes her head. "But you could kiss me."

"Give a guy a heart attack, Elena," I mumble with a smile and pull her into my arms, wrapping them around her.

"What heart?" she whispers deviously and I cock an eyebrow at her. "Pretty sure it's safely hidden in my underwear drawer."

"Cute," I smirk at her. "And I want all that stuff back where it goes, Gilbert. If I have to look at one more empty drawer I'm liable to eat the rest of the Timberwolves football team. Which is halfway fitting, seeing as I already ate the coach."

"Damon, that's not funny," she growls at me and I shrug.

"Who's joking? I missed you," I tell her and her scowl softens, her hands sliding up my chest to settle on the back of my neck, twirling her nails through my hair.

"I'm sorry," she breathes and I shake my head.

"My fault. Then again, it usually is."

"Well, you do have a thing about tradition," she winks at me and I pull her closer.

"And which tradition is that?" I ask huskily, because I already know exactly what she's talking about. She blushes and I have my confirmation.

I growl my longing as I boost her up to wrap her legs around my waist, and she cups my jaw in her hands, pressing her lips against mine. My whole body tingles and my legs feel weak when my tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers. And when she squeezes her legs around me? Thank Christ there is a closed front door behind her, a perfect surface for me to press her up against.

"Where's your room?" I whisper and she giggles quietly.

"Upstairs, but Matt's never going to let you in."

"Did he really kiss you? Because I may have to kick his ass. Actually, there's no 'may' about it. "

"Who told you that?" she asks and based on her face, I know for certain my brother is such a fucking liar. And I totally owe him for that. Not that I'm ever going to tell him.

"Doesn't matter," I breathe and kiss her again, turning and walking us toward my car.

She beams a smile at me and tightens her arms around my neck, leaning her forehead to mine.

"Merry Christmas, Damon."

I have my girl in my arms again, and I'm finally, finally taking her home.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

* * *

_fin_

* * *

**A/N: Merry Christmas!**

**-Goldnox**


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